When dusk’s shadow fell across the Viejas Reservation, the burning began.

A man holding a drip torch ignited a pile of household objects that had been thrown into a deep pit. In minutes, monstrous flames leapt toward the crescent moon. A column of smoke curled upward, transparent at first, but soon thick and dark and powerful as grief. Near the fire, a line of men from different reservations of the Kumeyaay people sang about safe travels to a better world, and the ocean, mountains and desert.

“These songs they’re singing are as old as our people,” said Manuel Hernandez, sitting off to one side, watching and listening.

This burning ceremony, which traditionally happens when a tribe member dies, was for Ida Brown, 90, a Kumeyaay matriarch who died June 11 from complications of a stroke. In her nine decades, Brown saw dramatic changes within her tribe and in the world beyond it, but she maintained the same values — respect for nature, humanity and history — throughout her life, her family said.

Brown had unique status on the reservation. She was the oldest of the Kumeyaay elders, a role that came with responsibility and prestige. “We treated her with more respect because she was the eldest in the reservation,” her son, Charlie Brown, said. People offered their seats and sought her advice, and she was known for her ceremonial dancing. “She was, in a sense, a leader.”

She was revered as a participant in tribal traditions and an educator who passed down vital ancestral knowledge to the next generations. Viejas Chairman Anthony Pico said she led by example and “provided the values of traditional ceremonies and the participation in such to the younger generation like myself and others.”

Friday evening all her possessions were burned, and the evening ended with a pot luck meal. More than 150 people attended, the majority members of her extensive family, her son said. A wake is tonight and she will be buried Tuesday morning. At least 300 people from around Southern California are expected to come and pay their respects.

Wild swings of fortune

Born in La Mesa on April 6, 1923, Brown grew up farming and gathering. In those days the Kumeyaay led a seminomadic life, and they relished the freedom to fish in the ocean, and hunt or gather acorns in the mountains and desert, depending on the season.

In what is now Mission Valley, “the grass was three feet tall. There were deer, there were wild pigs. She talked about how she used to go to the ocean and fish. And then go up to where Presidio Park is and eat the fish. … They had the best of three different worlds,” said her son.

Brown’s fortune took a turn for the worse when she and the rest of her tribe were told to leave their ancestral lands to make way for what is now El Capitan Reservoir. The city paid them for the relocation, and in 1934 several dozen tribe members pooled their funds and bought what is now the Viejas Reservation. Her son said she was among those founders.

Life became a daily struggle. Some people died from exposure during the harsh highland winters. The survivors had to start from scratch, learning how to plant in the different soil, where to find water and the acorns they ground for cooking.

She attended Sherman Indian Institute, a boarding school for Indian children (now Sherman Indian High School). During World War II, she worked as a riveter. That’s how she met her future husband, Charles Brown, who was serving in the Army at the time. They were married in 1951 and had two sons and a daughter. Those children gave them more than 20 grandchildren and several great-grandchildren.

The family struggled — her son remembers receiving donated clothes that didn’t always fit — but unlike others on the reservation, Brown and her husband both worked. She became a home aide nurse and her husband was a firefighter. They had a better lifestyle than many.

Every weekend they piled into the family’s 1950 Chevy and headed to powwows. She made it a point to introduce her children to different kinds of people. She taught them to respect all humans equally. “She always instilled that in us. ‘There’s nobody better than you. We’re all brothers and sisters. We all bleed the same,’” her son quoted Brown as saying.

When the Viejas band came into wealth through gaming, she tried to make sure their values didn’t slip away. She was too familiar with poverty from the early days of the reservation, but she also understood the freedom that comes from relying on nature and taking only what is needed. She warned others to be responsible and not become burdened by material excess.

Financial privilege came with another price, she felt: The tribe grew apart. “The elders … felt we lost a lot. Instantly. … We lost the tightness with the community we had,” her son said.

Release

After death, the spirit stays on Earth for a year, the Kumeyaay believe. Sending personal belongings to the sky as smoke makes the afterlife more welcoming for the spirit. Traditionally, they burned clothes and willow dwellings. Today, some even burn cars and motorcycles. Archaeological artifacts show they have been doing this for hundreds of years. Some Kumeyaay say the practice stretches back to prehistoric times.

Another purpose is to prevent disputes about inheritances and help the family begin to say goodbye. “They’re missing her,” said Viejas Vice Chairman Robert Cita Welch, who attended the ceremony. “They’ll see stuff they bought her or gave her, that’s going to go to her, and they’ll feel happy for that.”

Friday evening, everyone gathered at her daughter Hazel Talamantez’s house, where Brown spent her final years. A line of male prayer singers shook halymaas, or gourd rattles, and a line of female birdsong dancers moved rhythmically, left right, left right.

And the fire raged.

Up in flames went Ida Brown’s green sofa, where she’d knit and sew. That was where she watched her favorite channel, Court TV. Up in flames went her bright blue towel with the starfish design, her Tupperware, the motorized wheelchair she hated having to use.

“Everything goes,” her son said. “It makes it a lot easier.”

Up in flames went her books and jewelry, her bed and the books she read. So did the refrigerator that kept the pork chops she savored.

“It’s a release,” he said.

Up in flames went her favorite outfit, a pink blouse, black pants and her soft, comfy grandma shoes. Pink was her color of choice, and dancing at tribal gatherings just like this one was her passion.

“She danced until she was probably 80 years old, to the Kumeyaay singers,” her son said. “She’s probably dancing now.”